As I Break
by caledon
Summary: He was a man with no past and was content to stay that way...until she came back into his life. Cloud/Tifa, AU.
1. I cannot see beyond these clouds

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and the Compilation belongs to Square Enix.

Note: This fic was somewhat inspired by the song "Under My Skin" by Trading Yesterday. I've been wanting to make a Cloti vid to that song for a very long time, but I had a tendency to be literal-minded when it came to matching the lyrics with images, and there's a certain abstract-ness (yeah, not a word) to the song that kinda made it hard for me (though I did ended up making a vid for "She is the Sunlight" instead). So I guess a fic is the next best thing.

Warning: violence, gore, code names.

* * *

_The rain had abated, and the sunlight broke through the clouds, lighting his way through the vast wasteland._

_He trudged through, one foot in front of the other in a mechanical pace, dragging the huge sword behind him like a criminal on his way to be crucified on his own cross. __His eyes were narrowed from the too-bright desert, not quite accustomed to opening them and seeing. He kept his head down, and part of his hair shielded him._

_Outcrops of rocks lay scattered before him, and he could sense desert monsters watching him, tailing him, biding their time, searching for any weakness. His ears pricked at the quiet sounds they made, and he couldn't be certain if they knew he was already alerted to their presence._

_He sniffed, their putrid stench carried by the slight, arid wind, and he almost recoiled from its strength. Ahead, he could sense he was close to the outskirts of the city, and he knew he would be attacked before he could reach it._

_With a low growl they pounced, a half dozen crimson creatures that just could not let their prey reach the safety of the city._

_His mind was still in a murky haze as both hands swung the huge sword seemingly of their own volition, as though something had taken over him and he was merely a spectator within his own body, the still-sharp blade cutting through sinew and bone with a crunch. His muscles contracted at the weight, and with a strength that surprised even himself, dispatched the rest of the pack in a series of fast arcs and swings, their blood and viscera splattering him, mingling with the dried blood already on him. After planting the sword on the ground, he knelt in front of it, panting from the exertion. He opened his eyes all the way, but couldn't make sense of the scattered bodies surrounding him._

_And among the red, another approached him, tall and with a tattered cloak that gently fluttered in the breeze. The figure stood tall, a different creature than those that lay around them._

_He gazed up and met its red eyes._

* * *

Spike sat atop the rooftop balcony, shadowed by the gargoyles beside him. He watched the flow of people down below, going about their business, singling out the one indiscernible from the rest except for the predatory way in which he paced.

"Wolf Man, this is Darklighter," came a voice from the comm embedded in the wolf earring in his left ear. "Has the target been sighted?"

"Affirmative," he whispered in reply, focusing on the figure yet remaining attentive to his surroundings.

"Ten-four. Awaiting confirmation from Artie."

After a few seconds, the one who called himself 'Darklighter' came back on. "Proceed. Viva's in the premises and will provide back-up when necessary. Over."

"Affirmative," he repeated, and stood in one fluid motion, walked the length of the roof before jumping the six storeys down into the dark alley below, careful not to put too much force so that the ground remained unbroken with his landing, one leg stretched to the side while the other supported his weight, a gloved hand braced on the ground. He was just in time to see the figure descend the steps leading to the abandoned train station.

Spike swiftly followed, footsteps quiet in the dim cavern. He paused, ears prickling for any sound. On the darkened train tracks he heard the crunch of fast steps heading north. He treaded towards the sound, pulling the twin blades from their sheaths beneath his coat. He was only mildly disappointed at not being allowed to bring the entirety of the Fusion Sword, knowing that in such a mission as this remaining inconspicuous was more important than garnering attention with a huge weapon.

He continued to follow the figure for another hundred yards, deeper down in the darkness of the abandoned underground track. There, the figure stopped as though he finally sensed he was not alone. He swiftly turned, aiming a gun at his pursuer, firing several rounds.

Spike ran towards his target, his blades parrying off the bullets with an inhuman speed, his eyes glowing an eerie green in the darkness. He could sense the panic in the movements of the figure, the sound of gunshots nonstop. He grunted as he felt a few pierce his flesh as he got closer, but the adrenaline and mako pumping through his veins enabled him to withstand the momentary pain. Closer still, one blade embedded itself right through the gun barrel all the way to the wrist of its holder, nearly severing the thumb, and the cry that issued was suddenly silenced by the other blade's swing, decapitating his victim.

He fell to his hands and knees, panting. He could feel the blood trickling from his temple, from his chest and his left leg. Along with the blood, what ever it was that was in his system expelled the bullets, three pieces of metal compressed to more than half their original length by the pressure of the impact on his body.

"Are you alright?" came Viva's gruff voice in the darkness, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he passed by.

Spike nodded, seeing the other man walk to the target despite the lack of light. Viva examined the body, poked at the wound with a golden claw and held the victim's blood up to his nose. "Not quite there yet," he muttered to himself, sighing as he caught sight of the ruined gun. "What a waste." He looked back at Spike, shaking his head. "No spoils for me, huh?"

"He was shooting at me," came an even reply. "Had to get rid of it; nothing to do with you. If I had known, I'd have made an effort to save the gun for you."

Viva waved a hand and scoffed. "Just giving you a hard time." He stood and reached for his phone. "Artie. Mission completed. Spike got shot but the bullets are out so no lasting damage. Victim was clean. Cleaners are not required." He flipped the phone shut and turned to the younger man.

Spike had gotten to his feet during the interim and retrieved the bullets and his blades from the blood-splattered ground. He took a bottle of a mysterious solution from his pocket and poured it over his spilled blood, watching as it bubbled up and dissolved. Likewise, the mission's body was dispersing into the Lifestream.

"Leave no traces behind," said Viva as he began to move.

Spike nodded, and felt the power of fire flare from the materia slotted in one of his blades, incinerating the whole underground cavern as he and Viva walked away from it, not feeling the heat or flames even as it enveloped them.

* * *

_"I sensed the beast in you," the red-eyed man said in a voice that sounded gruff from long disuse._

_His eyes rose, the green that had overtaken his irises during the killing of the crimson creatures receding back to centre around his pupil, leaving only the blue._

_"Who are you?" he managed to burst out from his too-dry throat._

_The man appeared to think for a moment, his eyes roaming the sky. "Call me 'Viva,'" he said with a curl of his lip, his voice echoing distaste at the name._

_He nodded acceptingly, unconcerned about anything except for the one that incessantly pressed at his mind: "Who am I?"_

_Viva appeared taken aback, examining him with a frown. "Hmm," he mumbled meditatively before uttering with a shake of his head, "I don't know, Spike. I've never met you before in my life." The nickname came out of his mouth almost naturally, eyeing the blond spikes that shot out of his head._

_"Huh," the newly christened 'Spike' sighed, searching the emptiness of his mind to no avail; the blackness would not relinquish his name or identity, and glaring at the sword in front of him for any clue was no use. But an unrecognizable voice spoke in his head, sounding rather confident even if Spike could not remember his face. _"Listen, I'm gonna become a mercenary, and that's that. Boring stuff, dangerous stuff, anything for money. Mercenaries...that's what you and me are gonna be."

_"I'm a...mercenary," he said tentatively, hesitating at the words as they left his lips, as though he himself was unsure of their meaning in relation to him. "I can do anything."_

_Viva cocked his head to the side. "You don't say. Well then, how would you like a job?"_

_Spike measured the weight of his words. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do, especially once he reached the city. He had only been filled with the need to arrive at Midgar. He rose, and stroked the handle of the weapon planted in front of him, afraid to be parted from it; it was the only remnant of anything regarding himself. "Do I get to use my sword?"_

_The corner of Viva's mouth upturned fleetingly and he turned to leave. "If the job calls for it."_

_"Alright," he responded, and followed the path of Viva's footsteps._

* * *

A/N: "Mercenary" speech came from Zack's lines from Final Fantasy VII.

Thanks for reading.  
Oct/2009


	2. All of Her, also about the Last SOLDIER

A/N: I didn't mean to take this long to update. Of all the scenes and vignettes I wrote for this fic, I couldn't decide which to upload first to best serve the story. The next chapter shouldn't take over a year to publish ^^;

* * *

_**The not too distant past**_

Tseng stood hidden in the shadows, watching Specimen Three tend to the flowers that unusually grew inside the church in the slums of Midgar. Today, for once in his life as a Turk, he had felt at a loss, helpless, and coming here was his attempt to seek a calming balm to his disquiet. She exuded peace, down there among the flowers, almost without a care as she spoke, whispered, and cajoled to each and every single yellow and white buds that turned to her as though she was the sun. And then, suddenly, she stopped.

Rising, she raised her eyes up to the light that shone from the broken roof, clasped her hands together and bowed her head over them, then with a gasp, tearfully gazed up once more. Her sob echoed through the spires and columns, rang against the stained glass windows, shattering his own sought-for peace, and he closed his eyes and turned away. He could hear her fall to her knees, uncontrollable tearful convulsions racking her body, and he couldn't run away from it all fast enough.

Just as he left the church, his phone rang.

"What is it?" asked Tseng, devoid of any emotion in his tone.

"It's Specimen Sixteen. She suddenly broke down."

"I'm on my way."

* * *

Even several floors away from his destination, he could hear the wailing through the elevator. It was mournful, keening, pained. Tseng schooled his face to his customary impassive mask as the doors slid open and he stepped through the room, pace brisk through the hallway to the nursery. Inside the polygonal room, under its artificial lights, a girl rolled among the flowers. She thrashed, tore at her hair, tears and snot mingling on her face. He nodded to the white-clad operator beside him, and the door slid open.

"Sun," spoke Tseng, inflecting a softness to his voice. He carefully reached out a hand and lightly touched her arm. "Sun. What's wrong?"

Saliva dripped down her chin, and she sniffed, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. Broken leaves and stems clung to her disheveled form. "Tseng?"

"It's me."

Dry sobs rocked her body, and she shrunk into herself.

"What's wrong, Sun?"

"The boy..." she croaked out.

"Boy?"

She nodded. "...The boy with the sky in his eyes..."

"Yes?"

"I saw him die."

Tseng dropped his gaze. _And so he did_, he thought to himself.

Her voice grew stronger, tremulous. "I saw him die, Tseng. He's dead. There were too many holes in him. And so much blood. He was in pain." She began to stab herself with her clasped hands, and he reached over to stop her.

"Sun." He shook his head.

"But Tseng, he's gone."

"What else did you see?"

A shuddering exhale escaped from her chest, eyebrows knotted upon her brow. She shook her head.

"What else did you see, Sun?" pressed Tseng.

"Me."

Tseng didn't let his puzzlement show. "You?"

"Yes. Me and Hail."

"Hail was there?"

"Hail is gone too. They took Hail away from here. Me and Hail sat in the helicopter. They gave Hail a nice dress, the kind that Thorn wears. The same dress the boy saw Thorn wearing. That's how the boy thought he was seeing Thorn. Silly boy. That was Hail, not Thorn."

"What else, Sun? What else did you see?"

"He was strong. Stronger than any man out there. And he fought. He was beautiful. And then a hail of bullets descended on him. Because he stopped for Hail."

She whimpered, her eyes seeming dead as she stared into a far-off place beyond the grey walls that encased her.

"Is that it, Sun?"

Her lips trembled, and a loud sob escaped her. "His smile."

"Sun?"

"He smiled at the end. He thought of me, of Hail, of Thorn. Thorn... She must be sad too." Her face crumpled once more, but her voice, though hoarse, was unbroken. "He kissed her once, but I felt it on my lips. He embraced her, but I felt his arms around me. And now, we'll never feel him again. He's cold now. Dissolved away into the Lifestream."

"Sun..."

"Did you see Thorn, Tseng?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

She nodded. "Of course you did." She plucked at a flower, picking away at the petals as she began to sing. "Ash, ride, ice, thorn."

"Come on, Sun, let's get you to bed." He gently took hold of her hands as he rose, bringing her up with him. She felt weightless, like a ghost. She stared beyond him as she continued her song, letting fall the flowers she'd uprooted as she stood.

"Ash, ride, ice, sun. Ash, ride, ice, thorn, ash, ride, ice, sun..."

Assisted by Tseng, she was led to her room, grey and bare except for the tiny bed. She allowed herself to be laid upon it, dispassionately watching him inject her with a sleeping serum. Her voice faded as it immediately took effect, her eyes drifting close, releasing tears that had remained brimming upon her lower lid.

A sigh escaped him, feeling unrest churning in his chest. Just as he reached out to stroke her cheek, his phone rang.

"What is it?" he said by way of answering.

A hesitant voice greeted him on the line. "We're too late. He's dead."

"I know."

"Wha―? How did―"

"Specimens Three and Sixteen sensed him. I'm with Sixteen right now."

"Damn." Tseng's correspondent sighed on the other line. "There's more. It looks like they brought a Specimen from Project A up here."

"It's Nine."

"Hail? Are you sure?"

"It's been confirmed by Sixteen."

"So that's how they got him. Damn it. Hey, man, I'm sorry we screwed up and couldn't make it in time."

"There's nothing you could have done." He clicked his phone shut. _There's nothing any of us could have done for him._

He bowed his head, raised one hand in a half-prayer and said a silent farewell to the dead. Glancing once more at his slumbering charge, he whispered, "I'm sorry," before leaving her to her sleep.

* * *

Tseng sat in his office, a copy of the Project A case files on his desk. There had once been a total of twenty-nine Specimens for Project A, and now all that remained of it were two: Specimen Three, also called Thorn, and Specimen Sixteen, also called Sun. Each Specimen were identical, a perfect clone from the original model: the half-Cetra daughter of its head scientist, Dr Gast.

As part of the experiment following the disappearance of the original Project A, a Specimen was released to live as a normal person to see how far along her Cetra power would manifest. That was Three, Thorn. Or as she was called by her foster mother, Aerith, from the runic alphabet that made up her specimen ID (ash, ride, ice, thorn - æriþ). Specimen Three had no knowledge or memory of being in the laboratory deep within Shinra. She was, for all intents and purposes, raised to become purely human. Insofar as Tseng had kept her under surveillance, there had only been some slight indications of her power materializing, but not to the extent or strength that would see her as an asset to Shinra. At least, not yet.

Of all the Specimens, Sixteen by far proved the most successful in the advancement of her power, but her success was marred by mental instability. She alone was able to peer into the minds of the other Specimens, and therefore able to simultaneously undergo the same experiences they had without having to leave the facility, although they, not being as advanced as she, were not able to feel her. Within the walls that had been her home as long as she'd been alive, she was called Sun, from the last rune that made up her specimen ID (ash, ride, ice, sun - æris).

Today, the whole of Shinra Corporation had been bent on the retrieval of the Last SOLDIER. Following the disappearances (and possible deaths) of previous decorated SOLDIERs such as Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal, and the dissolution of the respective Projects that borne them, Shinra had been at a loss. When there had been a confirmed sighting of one Zack Fair following his escape from the Manor, Shinra had declared that he must be brought back by any means necessary, sending out legions to contain the strength that had been inherent in a SOLDIER.

It was _not_ common knowledge that there had been interactions between the Last SOLDIER and Specimen Three in the past. Only someone with access to the Project A case files would be able to profile that having a Specimen who looked exactly like the girl the SOLDIER knew as 'Aerith' appear before him as though she was in danger could be a way to disarm him. And only someone who was high up in the Shinra hierarchy could give the Executive Order to release the last of the weaker Specimens for a mission such as this.

It was safe to presume that Hail, also known as Specimen Nine, had perished during the mission.

Tseng, for his own purposes, had sent out the Turks in an attempt to intercept Zack Fair before he could be caught. Receiving periodic reports from his men and seeing Specimen Three's reaction in the church, he had given in to the feeling of foreboding that had plagued him all day and realized that this particular mission had absolutely no way of becoming accomplished. The SOLDIER's fate had been set.

All that was left to wonder was what was to become of the remaining Specimens of Project A.

* * *

End note: runic alphabet referenced is the Old English futhorc.

Thanks for reading :)  
Dec/2010


	3. All that is left is not myself

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII belongs to Square Enix.

Warning: AU. Code names.

* * *

_**The not too distant past (continued)**_

'Spike' sat on a small bed, eyes roaming his surroundings. Against the wall leant the man who called himself Viva, the lower half of his face buried beneath the cowl of his red tattered cloak. Earlier, a bespectacled ginger-haired woman wearing a labcoat had come in and conducted some tests on Spike, as a precaution, she'd said, suspicion and curiosity both ablaze within her eyes. He was merely a specimen to her, and somehow, being one was familiar to him, as though it was his natural state.

He noted how her one remaining eye lit up at the data she'd procured during the test, a half-smile forming on her lips. She'd told him she'd be examining the results and would let him know if there was anything wrong with the test. He already knew there was something wrong with him. He could only hope that she would find his lost name during her examination.

His ears perked at the sound of footsteps while Viva simultaneously cocked his head. The door slid open to reveal a well-manicured man. He had the polished look of an office worker who was pretty high up the executive ladder. A politician's smile graced his lips as he entered with his hand held out.

"You must be Spike," greeted the newcomer, grabbing his hand and giving it one firm shake. "I am called Artie. Please forgive me, but for reasons of security we do not call each other by our real names. I hope you won't find that getting in the way of our work?"

He shook his head.

Artie grinned. "I see that you're much like Viva, a man of few words. I can see why he took a liking to you."

The blond could see Viva directing a glower at Artie's back.

"Do you mind if I take a seat?"

Spike shrugged.

Artie took the chair that the woman had used earlier and sat in front of him. He exhaled deeply before speaking once again. "I understand that you're a mercenary?"

He nodded.

"And that you don't remember much of anything beyond finding yourself wandering the desert?"

He gave the same answer.

"Are you at all interested in finding your past?"

He finally spoke. "Yes."

"To be honest, Spike, we don't know yet how far we can delve to find what you seek, but we will do everything in our power in order to help you. In exchange, based on what our friend Viva had observed, we require the use of your skills.

"Midgar is a city that needs cleaning. And Shinra is the one that's been dirtying the city. A man of your skills could really help us achieve our goal. It will not be easy to accomplish―nothing ever is―but all the same, we are trying to bring peace to Midgar."

Artie stood and started pacing around the room. "To clean Midgar, we must dirty our hands. Do you have any objections to becoming the bloodstained hand that cleanses Midgar?"

Spike shook his head. "No."

"In exchange for such a service, we will provide for you everything you need: lodging, weapons, nourishment, information...anything within our power to give. Monsters had been running rampant in Midgar a lot more lately. They'll take on many shapes, and usually they'll come straight from Shinra, whether as part of the experiments hidden deep beneath their headquarters or humans straight from the top."

Artie sat down again and continued with a grave voice. "We'll not only ask you to exterminate, Spike, but to also assassinate."

Staring straight into his eyes, Spike only gave a nod. "Yes."

"You're fine with that?"

"Yes."

Artie's eyes roamed over his face. "Alright," he finally affirmed, holding out his hand once more. "Welcome to the fold."

Lacking hesitancy, this time Spike took the proffered hand and gave it a firm shake.

Artie smiled. "I'm sure the others can't wait to meet the new guy. I won't keep them. Viva, I'd like to speak with you a moment, please."

Viva pushed himself from the wall and pressed the button by the door to open it.

"Feel free to wander around, Spike. You should acquaint yourself with the place," said Artie as he followed Viva out the door.

It slid closed, and he directed Viva to walk farther down the hall toward the stairs. As they descended, Artie finally spoke. "You'll be keeping an eye on him, won't you, Vincent?"

"Since there's need for it. Have you found anything?"

Artie shook his head. "I've yet to see Shalua. But I'm sure she would've found something about him by now."

"I can smell Hojo on him."

"Dr Hojo? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then it's all the more reason for Spike to join our cause. At least, one would think."

"He has what I have."

"What do you mean?"

"A beast dwells within him. Just the one. He does not seem to be aware of it, but I could sense it prowling beneath his eyes."

"That poses a danger to us, then."

"No more than I am a danger."

"But you have some semblance of control."

Having reached the bottom step, Artie turned to Vincent. "If it does surface, I'm sure you'll know what to do. However, if we can harness it, then it will help us greatly. Shalua can gather as much information as she can about it to add to our knowledge database. And we have gained one more weapon against Shinra. I feel that something good might come out of this. It'll be interesting to watch, at least.

"Well, Vincent―Viva, please don't let the others show too much enthusiasm in showing Spike the ropes. I'm off to see Shalua, and I'll be sure to tell her to inform you of anything she finds about our new friend."

* * *

The room would've been dark were it not for the light glowing from the numerous computer monitors that adorned the space. A ginger-haired, one-eyed woman sat in front of one, her cheek leaning on a fist atop an elbow propped against the desk, a disgruntled expression on her face. She frowned against the information that flashed across the screen and let loose a frustrated sigh.

"That doesn't sound like good news," came a smooth voice behind her, making her jump in her seat.

"Don't do that again!" exclaimed Shalua Rui, turning to glare at the man that entered the room.

Artie chuckled at her indignation, arching a brow at the screen. "What have you got there?"

"It's about Vincent―Viva's," she answered with a roll of her eyes, "acquisition. That nameless man who claims he has no memory. According to the information I've dug, he was a Shinra grunt that was pronounced dead during the Nibelheim incident years ago. His name's Cloud Strife."

"Cloud Strife, huh? It suits him. Our new friend is certainly proving to be more and more interesting." He took a seat beside her and waved his hand at her continued silence. "Go on."

"Here." Her fingers flew across the keyboard. Images of a scanned brain appeared on the screen. "This is what the brain looks like when a person has been induced with mnemopryl, the memory repressing compound," she explained, pointing to the blobs of red and orange on the screen, and then tapped a finger on one that was a mass of green. "And this is his."

"Green? So he hasn't been dosed with mnemopryl. Is it mako?"

"That's the thing," she replied, twirling a pen between her fingers. "That's what the image suggests, only there's a danger in using mako instead of mnemopryl: since it's liquid Lifestream the effect would be the opposite of memory repression. He'd be overwhelmed by the memories of those who had already become part of the Lifestream until he wouldn't be able to tell which memories were his. That's why it's never used. This is something else entirely. Related to mako, yes, but I'm not sure what it is.

"One thing is for certain, though: he _had_ been submerged in a mako tank. There are needle marks all over his body, the same marks used for SOLDIER inoculations, and from the feel of his skin, he had only been freed from the tank fairly recently."

Shalua watched as Artie processed what she'd just told him. He gave a nod to prompt her to continue.

"Given the current information on hand, what we can know for certain is that he had undergone procedures that Shinra usually reserved for SOLDIERs; the glow and mako ring in his eyes are proof of that. Unfortunately, we can't know just how far or what kind of procedures he'd gone through since we can't access the records. Even if we hacked further into Shinra's database we'd still need codes for those restricted files, and it's beginning to look like those are the kind that require clearance that Shinra doesn't readily give out, not even to their executive officers. And nowadays, SOLDIERs are extinct. They've shut down that program after what happened in Nibelheim."

Artie leaned forward closer to the screen and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. He said thoughtfully, "Regardless of whether he had SOLDIER training or not, this certainly indicates he has the strength and power of one. We do have a use for him, then. Vincent said he sensed a beast inside him―"

"―A beast?" interjected Shalua.

Artie nodded and continued, "You can be positive Vincent isn't wrong in that regard. After all, he himself had been the product of such an experiment once, so it's not that farfetched to conclude that our 'Spike' had come from a similar endeavour."

"This certainly changes things for him. Is there anything else that Vincent told you about this Cloud?"

"He said he can smell Dr Hojo on him."

Shalua sighed. "It's not that surprising then, if that man is involved." She thought for a moment. "This beast could be the reason for the results of Cloud's brain scan."

"Could be. You'd know more about it than I, I'm sure."

"I don't even know where to start to look."

"I'll ask Vincent if he can gather more information."

"That could help."

"We'll test Spike out with a mission and see how he fares. Maybe it will manifest then."

"I don't know...there's too many unknown variables with him, and he _could_ prove to be a danger to what we've been working towards. We've already come so far."

"You worry too much, 'Luisa Haru'," he responded with a smile, and flicked the furrow between her brows as he stood. "You'll get wrinkles at such a young age if you're not careful." He waved as he walked out the door while she was left scowling after him, rubbing her forehead.

She turned back to face the screen, scribbling the letters R and T on the notebook in front of her before scratching them out, replacing them with 'Cloud Strife'.

_I hope you know what you're getting us into with 'Spike'_, she thought with a sigh.

* * *

Thanks for reading :)  
Dec/2010


	4. Erasure

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII belongs to Square Enix.

Warning: AU. Code names.

* * *

**_the Present (one year later)_**

_"Run, Cloud!"_

His eyes burst open.

The dream faded back into the recesses of his mind, tendrils of images pulled back into the void that consisted of his memories. All he could remember of anything were the autumnal flickering colours of fire and endless sickly green. He stared unseeing at the ceiling, and gradually became aware of the night-time noises of the city through his open window, and the incessant, steady beeping of his phone.

_The job calls,_ he thought, turning his head to the flashing of the vibrating phone on his nightstand, and slowly reached over for it.

He flipped it open and scanned the message. Under the image of a black wolf was a name, along with a location and time.

He would be on the hunt tonight.

Rising, he made his way to the secret room, fingers automatically entering the code in the hidden panel, and a door slid open. Lights blinked on slowly, but he didn't have to squint his eyes to let them get used to the unerring brightness. His feet took him to the wall where the Buster Sword hung, and he reached for it, holding the hilt with both hands and leaning his forehead close against the flat of the blade.

It was not quite a prayer, but he did this every time he woke. It was his way of reassuring himself. Even though Artie had given him a file that contained what ever information they could gather about him, he still felt unsure of himself. He felt disassociated from the name _Cloud Strife_. It was a dead man's name, according to the file, and yet he, as a dead man, still walked and breathed and existed. That didn't at all seem right. But there he was in that small amount of pages, complete with picture and profile information.

Cloud Strife, Wolf Man, Soldier Boy, Spike…he'd collected names in this line of work. He was now a man with no true identity, an unknown factor to the enemy, suitable to bring them their end.

With a final deep exhale, he hung the sword back in place, eyeing the side table that held the assortment of broken down weapons and bullets that should've killed him in his missions. He'd ceased wondering if that collection would increase.

They inevitably did anyway.

* * *

The buzzing of the alarm clock woke her, and Tifa blearily peered at it from beneath her bangs before reaching over to turn it off. She sighed as she stretched the kinks of sleep from her body, rising to smooth out the sheets of her bed before making her way out of her room. Pausing at the door adjacent to hers, she pressed her ear against it, listening in on her roommate. There was silence on the other end, and she gnawed at her lower lip in worry.

"Aerith?" she called out softly. _Today was…_

"In the kitchen," came the reply, and Tifa walked over there, finding the brown-haired young woman humming as she prepared a meal as if nothing was wrong.

Today was the only day the flower girl didn't go to the broken-down church that she frequently visited. Something had happened to her there on this day a year ago. She'd come home tear-stricken, crying so hard she couldn't bring herself to stop, and unable to explain the reason for it, only that she had felt as though someone who had meant a lot to her had died that day and that she somehow had been there to witness it.

Tifa hadn't known what to make of that, could only give what comfort she could. Ever since then, Aerith had seemed withdrawn, only gradually becoming more like her usual self as the weeks passed by. She still seemed guarded, though, especially over the last few days, and this morning, when Tifa arrived home from work she'd casually told her that she would be spending the whole day at home.

Now it was night, and Tifa had to prepare for work. Aerith gestured her to come to the counter, plopping down a plate with a cup of coffee and a glass of juice. She tried not to pry nor peer too close at Aerith's expression, knowing the other girl wouldn't really welcome it even though she'd answer with a big smile; still, Tifa couldn't hold back her worry.

"Why don't you come to Seventh Heaven with me?" asked Tifa before bringing a forkful of food up to her lips.

Aerith started, her eyes wide, before giving her a perfunctory smile. She reached over and gently flicked at Tifa's forehead. "If you keep worrying about me, you'll get wrinkles," she said teasingly, punctuating it with a giggle.

Rubbing her forehead, Tifa began, "I'm just—"

"—I know," interrupted the brown-haired girl, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze. "And I appreciate it. Thank you. Now eat or you'll be late for work."

The raven-haired young woman could only shake her head. An impasse, a roundabout—that was what this seemed to her; she worried for Aerith, and Aerith worried for her for worrying. She couldn't help the wry smile that came over her lips. At least, even if it seemed forced, Aerith's smile was there, and by tomorrow hopefully it would be genuine again.

As Tifa brought her dishes to the sink, Aerith stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The flower girl was facing away so she couldn't read her expression. "Just so you know, I haven't cried at all today."

Tifa stared at her for a studied moment, seeing the set of her friend's shoulders, hearing in her voice more than what she could bring herself to say. She brought her own hand up and squeezed Aerith's, nodding, before making her way to the bathroom.

* * *

Panting from exertion as he scrambled to get away from his pursuer, he struggled with the heavy weight of his body, the will to live evident in his hard, pounding heart. But the footsteps, though silent in their prowl, were relentless, and the fear already instilled in him increased.

And then he felt it: the weight of inevitability, the sharp blade passing right beside his head, minute tendrils of hair floating down, and he turned with widened eyes and raised pulse to face the bringer of his death.

On this gloomy night, those sunny, spiky locks seemed to glow like a halo around his attacker's head. He only had strength enough to tremblingly utter "Why?", to which his death, with a soft voice, replied: "For Midgar, you die."

A stroke, swift, descended, the blade glinting off of the artificial light of Midgar's night.

* * *

Spike twirled his sword over his head to clear off the blood. Alone now, he stood silently, watching the body dissipate into the Lifestream.

A crackle of static right by his ear disturbed the silence. "Wolf Man, come in, Wolf Man."

"Mission accomplished," responded Spike, already knowing the question that was about to be asked.

"Ah, okay, then," chuckled the one known as 'Darklighter'. "Antilles is on his way to you, over."

"It's fine, nothing's amiss."

"Still, Spike, per procedure since Viva can't be there to check."

"Fine." Spike waited, fastening the sword to the leather sheath that rested behind his waist. He sniffed, trying to gauge the air, ears prickling at the sound of footsteps.

A stout man shone a flashlight through the room, roaming over him briefly. "You okay, Soldier Boy?"

"Yeah."

"Looks to be clean." Antilles propped the flashlight in his mouth as he donned a pair of sterile gloves. "Did the victim say anything about what we're trying to find out?" he asked after taking hold of the torch once more.

Spike shook his head.

"Damn. Oh well. Let's see what we can find here." He rummaged through the papers strewn about the desk, inside the drawers and file cabinets while Spike mutely watched him. "Luisa's not going to be happy about this," remarked Antilles after a fashion. "Tsk. I guess it's time to go."

Spike bent down and picked up the bullets that had recently spewed from his body.

"Oh, you still do that, Soldier Boy?"

Spike shrugged.

"I guess it's become a force of habit now, huh?" commented Antilles as they fell into step to get out of the building.

Spike answered with silence.

"Say, Spike, it's been one year now since you've joined us. How about we celebrate? There's this place called Seventh Heaven that me and Biggs—I mean Darklighter—started going to, and there's this chick that you really have to see. Man, what a knock out—"

"Not interested," Spike's quiet reply broke through and stole the wind from Wedge's tirade.

"Aw, man, are you sure? You're missing out."

He nodded, unholstering the sword from his back and tucking it into one of the compartments of his parked customized bike when they reached it.

As an afterthought, as though remembering something to disperse the sudden awkwardness, he said, "Thanks anyway," as he mounted and rode away.

"Yeah." Wedge sighed dejectedly. "Did you hear all that, Biggs?"

Darklighter's voice crackled in his ear. "Yeah, I heard. That's too bad. You think he'd let up after a year, but I guess that's just how he really is."

"One day, Biggs, he'll finally come around. But until then—"

"—Yeah! More Tifa for us."

* * *

Thanks for reading :)  
Aug/2011


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